And in her arms he'd kill the Maker, each time, a little more
by SonataForMyOverdosedLover
Summary: A collection of moments, words, gestures, glances and touches. In order to write a story you need a strong beginning, a happy middle, and a memorable ending. They couldn't agree on a beginning, there was no middle way for either of them, and they would not accept an end. Theirs was a story they would rather keep to their longing fingers and their craving mouths.
1. Codex 1

_When they first met in Haven he had not yet seen the vast desert of Orlais. _

_He had only read of the cold emptiness and of the sensation of abandon that travelers could fall prey to. _

_And yet, when she stepped into the room every written word made sense to him. _

_She felt endless, unyielding and arid._

_When they first met he had not felt the growing thirst; _

_and by the time he did, it was too late to find his way out of her desert._

* * *

**Codex 1: there is shelter in the desert, there is thirst, and then the lion...**

* * *

The warm flicker of the candle was almost tauntingly casting a light over the worn-out but once carefully drawn letters of the map, circling a place he longed to forget. Being away from Kirkwall was a blessing and he was feeling guilt at his own thoughts. The world was on the verge of chaos and he was guided only by the acknowledgement of having a purpose. He loved this world greatly and he was willing to do whatever it took to see it saved. While Leliana was drawing strength from her worry and righteous concern and Lady Montilyet's words were sharpened by the fear of seeing the entire world succumb to despair and death he couldn't see any further than the closing of the breach. He was ready to throw everything he had into this fight and into the position with which the Seeker Cassandra had entitled him because that was all he had. His will to fight and purpose had started and would probably end with the newly declared Inquisition. What came after, as long as they were successful, was of little importance in his eyes.

The stifled and continuous scratching of Josephine's quill on the paper kept him trapped in the world of his thoughts but the sound of her repetitive voice, now louder than he had been used to brought the man's attention back to the two women in the room. If she addressed him, she had not the patience to wait for an answer as the Antivan was now continuing her discussion with Leliana.

"Cassandra should be here soon." The woman paused. "Leliana, how is she? I haven't properly met her yet. I mean... she has been offered a cabin down the hill in Haven and I don't think I ever saw her in the Chantry…. Unless, you know... you count the time she was imprisoned in the cells."

The Spymaster let out a soft chuckle, so misplaced for people who didn't know her or for people who are not Josephine.

"She's… resourceful." Then the smallest frown appeared on her face. "if not problematically stubborn. I am not sure whether she is not fond of the concept of conversation or just picky about the subject. She doesn't exactly help her case with words. Thankfully her actions are louder than her voice."

Josephine did not raise her eyes from her papers.

"That is the Trevelyan upbringing, I am convinced."

"That reminds me, Josephine; have you managed to confirm her story with the information that I gave you?"

"Oh, yes, that was very helpful. She is of Trevelyan blood and not only that. Their family is quite numerous - with the Free Marches nobility considering power to be in numbers and all that. She is in all aspects Lady Trevelyan, the youngest in the main branch of the family."

"If anything her name should carry weight in your negotiations. The Trevelyans have always been praised for their piety and dedication to the Chantry. That should count for something when they consider the Inquisition."

Cullen looked up from the table for the first time.

"They have always made honorable Templars. During my training the recruits used to tell stories about Elijah Trevelyan. His deeds before his fall in the fight against abominations were admired by all of us who were still young. What happened to him was very unfortunate. And the stories that came after… did him and his family no justice. Regardless, this is a good card we have on our side."

The Antivan put her quill away and eyed them carefully.

"Elijah was Lady Trevelyan's older brother. They were Bann Trevelyan's only children."

"Bann Trevelyan? As in Manic Gregor?" Leliana narrowed her eyes. "She is Manic Gregor's daughter?" She repeated now, not bothered to hide her sincere surprise.

"Can you really blame the man? His wife died leaving him with only two progenies and he lost his only son as well, the future of his name; it must have played a number on his mind."

"I heard he was a bit touched even before that."

"Regardless," she continued, disapproving of Leliana's attitude "this makes it a bit more complicated. If she would have been of a less prominent branch of the Trevelyan, our pass with the Chantry could have been easier."

Cullen was considering the woman's words but the chatter in the room was interrupted when the heavy door was pushed out of position and the Seeker's figure stepped through the frame, followed closely by the person whose name was on everyone's lips. Like Josephine, he had not seen much of the woman. The only other time he had caught a sight of her was as their prisoner; when Cassandra brought her in she was unconscious and thrown in prison immediately, with the apostate elf making sure that she was not going to die before answering their questions. As she was being restrained in her cell he took in the poor state in which the woman was and had his doubts about her involvement in the death of the Divine. No one plans something so big just to risk their life as well in the process. Unlike Cassandra, who was more trustful of the woman after she had miraculously stopped the breach from swallowing them all, he was becoming considerably more careful around her. Questions of practical importance were creating more doubts than confidence. If she was of noble birth her attire had not spoken of it. Wearing a mercenary's tunic and fashioned after a commoner's needs – this was not a way in which a noble would have presented themselves at such an important event.

Their paths had not crossed until earlier that same day. They had lost a lot of men when they fought their way to the breach and he had prayed that those lives were not in vain. He had not met Cassandra on the roads and he found that rather surprising. It was unlike the Seeker to venture through the mines in the mountains instead of taking a direct approach. And that was his second doubt. Regardless, it was a small battle that they had won and that changed their morale. The fact that Cassandra and Leliana had managed to convince the woman to stay in the inquisition was definitely working in their advantage. The people from Haven had gone, in a matter of days, from wanting nothing more than to kill the woman (his men had reported at least two attempts on her life while in prison) to calling her a gift from the Maker. And the fact that Cassandra was also smitten with her presence was giving him both hope and more doubts. If being a Templar had taught him anything it was that blind fate without questioning only ended in disaster. And he looked up, into her eyes, considering how rigid and impenetrable they were for someone who was expected to be the messenger of Andraste herself.

Cassandra closed the door and then turned to the table, acknowledging them and doing the formal introductions for the first time. He studied her – her sharp featured and angular face was not directed at them, but on the map unfolded in front of them. He had been too quick in calling her expression rigid – her eyes were prying as they traveled across Ferelden. Unlike Leliana, whose stare could express cutting interest, if the woman was searching for something, or if she was simply scouting aimlessly, it was completely unreadable. And yet she was paying attention. When Cassandra was done, she glanced up at them, stopping on Josephine.

"Impressive titles for a force barely born."

She watched in silence how the pressure of their precarious situation was talking a toll on them and disagreements were heavy and dense enough to be cut with a blade. It gave him an uncomfortable feeling that she was gaining satisfaction from their difficulties concerning the degree of involvement that the Templars or the Mages should have in the Inquisition. But her interest was short as she returned her focus to the map.

He was expecting a reaction from the woman when Josephine mentioned the unfavorable spot in which the Chantry was putting her but all that escaped her lips was a pertinent, if not an amused remark.

"That didn't take long. I had no idea I was any concern of theirs."

The fever of the topic was getting the best of him.

"Shouldn't they be busy arguing over who's going to become Divine?"

Josephine dismissed him, her interest in the woman strongly visible.

"Some are calling you the 'Herald of Andraste', and that frightens the Chantry. The remaining clerics have declared it blasphemy, and we heretics for harboring you. This affects us greatly; it limits our options. Approaching the mages or Templars for help is currently out of the question."

Something in Josephine's words triggered a readable reaction from the woman as she looked up completely for the first time, cutting the Ambassador's words.

"Just how am I the Herald of Andraste?"

Cassandra lost not a breath in explaining the consequences of her actions and Cullen felt the passion in her voice. He leaned more heavily on the hilt of his sword as he noticed disapproval strongly gripping the woman's features.

"It's quite the title isn't it? How do you feel about that?"

She narrowed her amber eyes and glared his way almost as if insulted. Her dark lips barely parted when she let out the low hiss.

"I am no herald of anything; particularity not Andraste."

That sudden burst of attitude took everyone by surprise and he noticed it in the way their bodies tensed. Unexpectedly, the easiness with which he reacted felt almost like betrayal to his better judgment.

"I am sure that the Chantry would agree."

As Leliana got carried away with the importance of this newly acquired title, Cullen stood his ground under the herald's piercing stare. She took his question as a personal offence and was not hiding it. He felt that if he were to look away he'd lose authority in front of the noble. Peculiarly enough he was relieved at the thought of the woman in front of him not feeling comfortable with the title of prophet. He was however aware of his true emotions and insecurities when he focused on the strong grip he had on his sword, masked only by the thick glove.

He had grown up with descriptions and chants of Andraste – of her delicate and feminine presence; of her soft yet endless strength; her fair presence, her kind and honest eyes and her righteous, unshakable appearance. The woman in front of him had nothing from that. There was no kindness in her eyes and nothing delicate in the way she was bearing herself. She was tall and if anything she was impressive. If she could inspire anything in a man that would be fear and doubt. Her high and sharp cheekbones were adding a menacing feeling and her two scars were almost lost on her complexion, yet hard to miss if you'd focus on her full lips. The coldness and indifference of the nobles were present in her features but her statuesque and grounded figure told the story of a trained and world-witted person. She was a memorable sight in the most predatory sense. If she truly was a messenger of Andraste, unholy as his thoughts might be, the Maker must have had a twisted sense of humour.

She turned away her attention when Leliana mentioned Mother Giselle and her intentions to talk to her.

"Why would someone from the Chantry offer their help? I though we already agreed they are not exactly fond of my existence."

"Not everyone shares the same opinion. And if there is even a chance of gaining a favor from one of the two parties…"

"You suspect this could be a trap?" Cassandra voiced the concern behind the woman's question. After a moment of consideration however, she shrugged it off.

"I guess as long as she does not plan on boring the life out of me with the usual Chantry bullshit, it's worth seeing what she has to say."

"That is a rather… uncommon opinion about the clerics from a member of the Trevelyan family." Josephine was the one to put into words the cause of their tension. It was true. They had not counted on a rather hostile attitude from the 'herald' regarding the Chantry.

The woman glanced at the Antivan.

"If you were expecting piteous dedication and constant praising of the Maker, you are looking at the wrong Trevelyan. I am afraid you have drawn the shortest and unluckiest straw on this one."

Her narrow, cat-like eyes closed even more if possible as she brought her gloved hand to everyone's attention.

"I don't know what this is or how I got it. At best it's some sort of magic. What if an elf, or better yet, a qunari had stepped out of the Fade instead of me? Would you have called them 'herald of Andraste' as well?"

Cassandra frowned. "There is no point in debating that, is it? You were the one who returned and our soldiers have seen a female figure guiding you from behind. I also know what I heard at the ruins of the Conclave. While I might not trust your intentions I trust myself – what I heard and witnessed."

"I meant no offence, Seeker." Her hand turned into a soft fist as she let it down. "However, I don't believe in your Maker and I would be grateful if you'd stop shoving him in my face. If there's anything you want to trust – trust my intentions; because as long as this stops the cancer from spreading I am with your Inquisition. But I will be doing it on my own terms… as I always have. Your God will not take credit for my work. You can tell that to the people who insist on calling me a herald." The woman stopped and watched Cassandra with calculated respect. Then her eyes softened. "If you were hoping for a believer maybe you'd have been better off with an elf or a qunari after all."

The woman approached the table and grabbed one of the wooden pieces, placing it not far from Redcliffe.

"With the Inquisition's approval, I'll go prepare for the journey to the Hinterlands. Cassandra, let me know when we're clear to depart." She stepped back.

The Seeker nodded. "In the meantime let's think of other options."

As the woman was retreating she turned one more time and looked over her shoulder at the warrior.

"Also, I am going to ask that the dwarf sticks around the Inquisition. I hope you won't mind… much. If I am going to go out there, hunting demons and whatever else I'd rather have someone with a good aim watching my back. And that crossbow is impressively accurate."

Cassandra barely suppressed her disapproval as a defeated grimace appeared on her face. With a coy grin, the woman nodded her head and stepped out of the room, leaving the four of them sharing a moment of silence.

"Well… she's definitely not what one would expect."

"I will keep an eye on her, Ambassador. She is instrumental for the Inquisition and I am not going to allow any mistakes."

The Seeker spoke with full confidence, something that Cullen couldn't share. People were always guided by something in life; but they were also tempered by their conscience or faith. Those that craved for something were hard to move but it rarely was impossible. The truly dangerous ones were the ones that lacked faith; because without faith they feared nothing; and without fear, they were unpredictable. The unpredictable could not be controlled.

The second time he had seen the woman was inside the strong walls of the Chantry, in the dim light of the candles barely keeping the shadows away. She felt like a piece that did not belong there, an institution of her own, self-governed and rough. He had spent enough time in The Free Marches to know where their pride lay. And yet she did not remind him of the people from Kirkwall. The first time he had seen her, because of her earthly complexion, he thought of Josephine. But the Antivan was lively, vivacious and radiant. Now that this woman could act and speak for herself he realized that they were nothing alike. He had never been a traveled man, and yet he heard stories of the arid desert of Orlais. The depiction of endless, empty dunes bathed in the sun, the suffocating heavy air during the day and the cold, will-freezing nights - her presence brought him back to the books he had read in his younger years on the Hissing Wastes in the Western Approach. He felt like a man lost in the vast desert and that was unnerving. When she left the room he found himself back in Haven, back to his worries and the chaos that was upon them all. For a moment, the only true thing that terrified him was the faith –shaking realization that her numbing emptiness had taken away both his fears and purpose. He couldn't allow himself that, so for the first time in years he welcomed his demons back into his mind.


	2. Codex 2: Anima

_It felt as if carved stones could express much more compared to this woman made of flesh and bones. _

_Cold as they were, the statues in the Chantry held more liveliness in their petrified forms. _

_And yet, they would in no way be able to seek the thinnest places of his faith and seed doubt, _

_the way her amber eyes have done that day._

* * *

**Codex 2: Anima**

* * *

Mornings in Haven were cold. He didn't mind. If anything he welcomed the chilling sensation each time he'd wake up and make his way to their improvised training ground. It was terribly early and the fog had not cleared yet. He wasn't expecting much fret at that hour as Haven was just coming back to life. Sleep would abandon him too, soon. A habit he had developed in Kirkwall. But unlike Haven, his room from the City of Chains was warm and his days methodical and repetitive. His new location was austere but he felt no need for anything outside of what the place could provide. Occasionally he'd miss the taste of a better tea instead of the hot flavored water they had here but it was nothing he couldn't get used to. Coming from a numerous family, he had never asked for much in life. He used to believe good things happened to good people, and he considered himself lucky in spite of everything that he had witnessed.

He stepped outside the gates, content to see that the soldiers were also waking up and clearing the snow that the wind had brought during night. After walking down the set of stoned stairs his eyes scouted the relatively deserted area around him. The stables were in poor condition, if they could be called stables at all. With no horses, the broken fence was of no immediate importance to anyone. They were in desperate need of mounts but he had no success in obtaining an agreement with that stubborn horsemaster from Redcliffe to supply the Inquisition with some of his Forders. Those damned horses would ease the travel for their parties.

Speaking of which, he was pleasantly surprised to see the Seeker stepping out from the blacksmith's workshop. She was heavily dressed in full armor and equipped with her shield and sword. As she looked up their eyes met and she greeted him with her traditional solemn nod, waiting for him to reach her.

"So early, Seeker? I did not expect to find you here."

"Yes, well, to be completely honest, I don't know how you're doing it every day. I am an early person myself but being up at this time each morning is simply ridiculous."

The man let out a breezed laughter. "You get used to it in time. Plus, mornings are kinder to me when I am not sleeping."

Her usually hard expression softened for an instant with sympathy and what could have been regret at even opening the subject. He wished she wouldn't. There was nothing regrettable about his situation.

"We're leaving for the Hinterlands soon. I'm checking on the last preparations because Maker knows what we'll find once we get there." The woman turned to look back, inside the atelier. He followed her actions and his eyes easily found the herald and Leliana among the few people sheltered under the roof. The woman was currently listening to whatever their Spymaster was explaining to her as she was fastening a belt around her hips. Her instincts were sharp as she instantly became aware that she was being watched. She looked up and out of habitude he nodded his head. The woman did not return the gesture, but held his gaze a moment longer in the most unreadable fashion.

When her attention was away he frowned. "I've seen statues in the Chantry more expressive than her."

He couldn't decide what had surprised him more: that the warrior actually found his words humorous or the fact that he had actually spoken his thoughts out loud.

"If you had seen the way she growled not moments ago at one of Harritt's apprentices you'd be more appreciative of her lack of expressions."

But they had to stop from venturing further into the subject as the woman was on her way to them, gloves and gauntlets in her hands.

"You do know you need better armor? Harritt's quite good with his crafts but lacks proper materials; a boy with a stick could probably pierce half of the things they make here."

Cassandra was well aware of it and did not enjoy being reminded.

"We're working on it."

"Cassandra, a word, please…" Leliana's voice called from inside the shelter and the woman obliged, retreating into a more private conversation with the Spymaster and leaving the two in an uneasy silence. But it very well could have been just him since the woman was more preoccupied with keeping the gauntlets under her armpit as she was slipping the gloves on. Involuntarily, he searched for her palm and caught a glimpse of the mark right before the leather could shelter it from his prying eyes. In an instant he looked away, feeling as if he had witnessed something most intimate. His actions did not escape her

"You don't have to avert your eyes; it's not going to swallow you up if you stare for too long."

He always preferred to be sincere even if that made him look foolish.

"It seemed personal."

The woman sighed a bit bored.

"It's nothing more than an accident."

"It's Andraste's mark and our only way to stop those rifts from spreading."

Her eyelids lowered heavily but she proceeded to strap the gauntlets on her arms.

"You'd say that, wouldn't you?" To him, her musing voice did not match the way she looked at him not moments ago. "Maybe I should simply cut my hand and give it to you for safekeeping since it's clearly very important."

Her mockery told him that it was time to back away from the subject before more unnecessary insults could be thrown. Antagonizing her would gain him nothing.

"Whatever it is, it is not a joke."

She continued her work without a word. He was about to move away from the matter when he saw her plum lips line in an unpleasant, almost unnoticeable smile. With that unreadable expression she looked up and watched him in silence as her hands were continuing their job blindly but efficiently. He felt his jaw clench under her scrutinizing eyes and was aware of how they traveled on his face, taking in every detail. He had never met such boldness in a person, even more so in a woman, and considered her act extremely rude and inappropriate. He knew where to place it – he had met enough nobles to recognize the lack of shame they had when invading someone's personal area of comfort. And when he thought she was simply doing it for her own amusement and judgment, the woman talked again.

"I have a curiosity."

They always did; and it was almost always followed by an insulting question. She brought her arm up and gripped one of the leather straps with her teeth, helping herself with the knot but also taking an unnecessary long time in doing so, intentionally prolonging the waiting period. She stared directly at him but he could not read anything in her amber-like eyes.

"How does a Templar walk away from The Order? I thought it was an 'until death' condition."

He thought of an immediate answer but something in her voice made him keep his guard up.

"We are not tied to the titles and it's not uncommon for a Templar to leave. As it is, there are enough reports of Templars currently deserting and abandoning the Chantry."

Her insinuating smile became even more visible as she proceeded to the other gauntlet. "But does a Templar truly stop being a Templar?"

He frowned and her smile dropped as she continued in a lower tone. "With all the lyrium pumped into their system by the Chantry, can a Templar be anything else?" she made a pause and continued with a roll of her eyes "besides… dead or a complete wreck."

He felt the taste of blood in his mouth before he could realize he had bitten into his cheek.

Her attention finally returned to her arms, tugging everything into position.

"A Templar is his trust and faith in the Maker and his purpose to the Order, not his addiction to lyrium."

"No – trust and faith usually make a Cleric, add in the lyrium and you get a fanatical army."

"You don't like the Templars very much, do you?"

"I can't sympathize, no. Why would anyone sacrifice their mind for faith in something that they can't even prove it exists, is beyond my power of understanding."

At this point he felt annoyance building up inside and sighed, looking away in an attempt to find peace in the snow covered hills. He cursed his habit when he realized that his hand had long found its way to the hilt of his sword.

"For someone who doesn't recall how she stepped out of the Fade, you are very dismissing of the idea of divine help."

She let her arms fall and turned her head so that she could look at him directly. "Food for thought – I don't owe anything to your Maker, so why should I start believing in him now?"

Whatever his thoughts were, they were wiped away by her dry words. He turned his head to mimic her intentions and immediately regretted it. Carved stones could indeed be more expressive than the woman in front of him, but they would in no way be able to seed doubt in the darkest corners of your faith.

Leliana went past them addressing the herald without even stopping.

"Please do not share any of your thoughts on this matter unless absolutely necessary. We don't want to make it easier for the Chantry to take us down."

The woman arched an eyebrow as she watched the Spymaster walk away towards the gate, greeting Solas and Varric on her way.

"I don't think she likes me."

He had to bite his tongue in order to keep his thoughts to himself.

"I guess we'll be taking our leave now that Varric finally decided to honor us with his presence." Cassandra glared at the dwarf.

"Don't talk to me Seeker. I am still sleeping until this fog clears." The fact that Varric was unhappy with the early hour was perfectly hearable in his voice. The woman decided to ignore him and Cullen caught her eyes as she addressed him.

"I hope things will not get out of hand while we are away. Is there anything else we should look into, Commander?"

The herald was also eyeing him expectedly.

"Actually there is one matter I was considering this morning. Our men in the Hinterlands have made contact with a certain Master Dennet of the Redcliffe farms. He has exemplary Fereldan Forders but is unwilling to send them to us. If you could find an agreement, it would really benefit the Inquisition."

"Horses, right. I get the whole closing rifts, fighting demons and looking for allies but I don't remember signing up for running errands as well." The indignation in her voice was almost cutting.

"None of us signed for anything that is happening right now in this world." Cullen considered how Cassandra sounded irritated by the woman's attitude, but not revolted. He did not envy her at that moment – stuck for days with Varric, of whom she did not approve, and dealing with a clearly hostile but otherwise indispensable agent, made him fully sympathize with her.

"Fine, I'll get your horses in between picking flowers for Leliana."

Cullen side-glanced the warrior but Cassandra beat him to it with a clear 'don't ask' attitude. They were actually content when the woman put her body in motion, ready to join the two men ahead of them. But she was stopped by the familiar voice of their Antivan Ambassador.

"Ser Trevelyan! Oh, what a relief that you have not departed yet!"

The herald turned around and it was instantly clear that her next words would not be kind.

"Lady Montilyet! Don't tell me, you have a request as well. Why don't you people just write down a list the next time I leave? What is it? Something you need from the Redcliffe Market? Though I rather doubt businesses are opened these days."

Cullen saw the enthusiasm slowly dying on Josephine's face, replaced by confusion and embarrassment, as her previous running transformed into an unsure walk until she could stop closer to them.

"I was actually hoping I could give you something you might find useful on your –"

" – oh." The hostility in the woman's position completely vanished as she approached her.

Still unsure, and clearly freezing as she had probably ran all the way there without considering that her usual attire was not made for the weather, she extended the wrapping in her arms and tried her best to remove the cloth.

"You remember marquis DuRellion; he left yesterday for Val Royeaux with his trading goods. He had this in his possession and I figured he wouldn't have much use of it besides selling it. After our last talk I thought it might benefit you more…" she paused as she revealed a Chevalier Dagger "in hopes that I was not too presumptuous."

If he had to describe the expression on the woman's face as she took the dagger and brought it to her eye level to analyze it, he would use the word interest; or something very similar.

Her eyes finally lightened up with appreciation. "The blade could use a bit of sharpening, but this is definitely of better quality than everything else around here."

If anything she seemed to never be short on insults. He didn't need to turn to know that Harritt had probably spit on the ground and barely held in a swear.

When she suddenly started swinging the dagger Josephine had to jump back, unprepared for the gesture.

Content, the woman grabbed one of the daggers on her back and threw the blade, sticking it perfectly vertical into the ground, replacing its spot with the new weapon. She was about to turn and leave but stopped as if remembering something.  
It made Cullen feel uncomfortable how sudden her entire body started to speak in a language of its own; long gone was the statuesque impression when the woman grabbed Josephine's hand; cupping it gently as if it was made of glass in her own, she leaned in, so that the only distance left between their faces was enough to fit their hands. The way her eyes locked on the ambassador's and the prolonged touch of her lips as she kissed the back of her hand transformed the cordial gesture into an almost erotic display.

Eventually she stepped away in a bowing fashion, keeping her eyes on Josephine a moment too long.

"Much appreciated, Lady Montilyet."

He watched her take her leave and Cassandra follow after an unnecessary shared silence.

His eyes followed the group until the road took them out of sight. Out of habitude he prayed for their safety and good news upon their return.

Only when he felt Josephine move he remembered he was not alone. He watched her slowly regain her voice.

"It's an … unusual warm day in Haven, isn't it, commander?"

She did not wait for an answer as she nodded abruptly and almost sprinted back towards the gates.

It was in fact, an extremely cold morning, but there was no need to make the ambassador feel more uncomfortable than she already was.

He preferred it that way. The cold kept him awake and focused. As his eyes roamed on the empty road he allowed his mind to travel one more time at the woman that not long ago, daringly had held his gaze. She did not belong to the cold; like Josephine, her presence in this snowy place felt too exotic and atypical. But she possessed a suffocating air which was drying him out. In the cold that reminded him of his faith she was a thirsting blasphemy


	3. codex 3: The snow her body melts

_He should have paid attention to her words _

_but he'd only remember the drops of snow caught in her hair._

_ He knew he should have objected to her claim _

_and if there was a reason of why he hadn't, now it was too late to remember._

* * *

**Codex 3: The snow her body melts**

* * *

There was a horrible headache reigning over his senses and the never-ending conflicts were not making it any better. The quarrels between the mages and the Templars stationed in Haven were growing and clearly getting out of control. And the man in front of him was not only aware of it but also doing his best to keep the hateful fire ignited. It wasn't anything he couldn't handle but he was growing tired and impatient. He wasn't ungrateful for the aid that Mother Giselle has brought, but it wasn't enough; being still left in the dark, with more questions than answers and with a black mark still above the name of the Inquisition was affecting everyone. Fighting against the wind was not a long-term solution.

He had barely cleared the gathered crowd from the gates of the chantry but Chancellor Roderick was determined to trample on his nerves further. Trying to channel out whatever the old man was about, Cullen looked past his shoulder, at the retreating men. Without control his body instantly tensed into a straighter position as he recognized the figure of the herald making her way up the hill through a group of mages. The party had returned from the Hinterlands some days ago with a plan. It was a weak plan and it had to be carefully thought out– going to Val Royeaux so soon for a direct confrontation with the Chantry was risky but what other choice did they have? He was never a man for details but it occurred to him that she was changing more and more each time they met. It was clear as day that Haven was not the sort of place where she belonged; she didn't have to put it into words for everyone to see that she did not enjoy being there; the Breach had affected and changed everyone, without a single exception. He caught himself wondering what the woman was like before all this. It was the first moment in the weeks since she was spit out by the Fade that he realized he was having expectations from her without even knowing her first name.

The way she carried her body towards the chantry reminded him of the fact that she was of noble birth. Her usual commonly braided hair was now loose from the bun and cascading in a free tail past her shoulders, the dark chestnut color contrasting on the white hunter tailcoat she was wearing. With matching elbow-lenght gloves and boots, she seemed to have made some personal requests with the nugskin they had brought from the Hinterlands. Even though white was an appropriate color for Haven, it was… pretentious.

She raised her eyes and met his only to make him realize he had been staring at her all this time. Slowly, the Chancellor's voice was slipping back to his ears and Cullen tried his best to catch up with the man's complaints. He kept checking on the approaching woman wondering if she was going to stop or continue her way past them. Her eyes rested on the back of the Chancellor and only momentarily switched to him as she was determined to ignore the scene.

"Which is why we require a _proper_ authority to guide them back to order." Cullen barely stopped from rolling his eyes in annoyance. He didn't like the man but he found himself asking if he had always been this irritating. He had never found it relevant enough to confront Roderick whenever he was barking at him but he felt an uncomfortable need to make use of his authority.

"Who, you? Random clerics who weren't important enough to be at the conclave?"

His eyes lingered a moment too long on the leathered shoulder of the woman, and the melting drops of snow tangled in her long hair. He would not look far up, only following the line of her sharp jaw as she stepped right past him.

"The rebel Inquisition and its so-called "Herald of Andraste"? I think not."

He knew that in a second she would completely disappear from his line of view but it never happened. She stopped almost behind him and he had to look past his shoulder in order to acknowledge her presence when she addressed him in a slightly bored voice.

"Remind me why you're still keeping him around?"

"Clearly your _Templar_ knows where to draw the line."

That put an unexplainable knot in his throat that she doubled by fully turning and stepping by his side, joining in the conversation. He decided to return his attention to the other man.

"He's toothless. There's no point turning him into a martyr simply because he runs at the mouth."

There was an unbecoming silence in which the woman refused to look anywhere else than deep into the Chancellor's soul, leaving the man prey to uncertainty. Cullen knew exactly how he must have felt. Suddenly her relaxed body thrust forward without taking a single step and a low growl escaped her throat, showing her teeth like a wild predator. Startled by the display, the Chancellor jumped back almost bringing his arms up for protection. But as quick as it started she pulled back, everything returning to normal, with only the man making a fool of himself. He continued to step backwards while trying to wash away the shame.

"Mock if you will. I'm certain the Maker is less amused."

Cullen watched the retreating man, a bit taken aback as well by the sudden act.

"What was that?"

"Just wanted to make him squeal." With a wide grin on her face, she looked at him. Being so close, he realized that she was a tall woman; he was used to lowering his eyes in order to address both Josephine and Leliana; and even Cassandra who seemed like a mountain when he was talking to her, was also of a shorter height. His insides slightly turned when his mind traveled to his former Knight-Commander Meredith. He immediately wanted to erase the thought. There was no likeliness between the two, chromatically opposed and yet… it was too late. There was a cold and calculated power in their eyes and it was revoltingly easy for him to read it when she was on the same level with him. "Didn't think it was so easy."

At least this woman in front of him hated Templars and clearly didn't have a motive strong enough to represent anything Holy, so he should relax and think no more of such resemblances.

He must have been too lost in his thoughts because the woman frowned. She sighed and stepped back, remembering that she had business somewhere else.

"Does The Order also kill one's sense of humour or is it just a special feature of yours?"

He realized how he must have looked but he couldn't find it in himself to be bothered by it. The Chancellor had already drained his desire for human interactions for the day. She indicated that she wanted him to follow her inside the chantry.

"Does it really bother you that I was a Templar?" Out of courtesy he stepped ahead, with the intentions of opening the door.

"What do you mean?" her question showed him that she had little to no investment in the topic.

"I noticed that you only stepped in after he mentioned my affiliations to the order."

She stopped and waited for him to push the door. When she looked up he knew she was going to spill out her thoughts but then something changed. Whatever she wanted to say it was not going to escape her lips anymore, and was replaced by a coy, prying attitude.

"I just thought that I should get him off _my_ Templar."

Her empty sentence reached his ears and she slipped inside the chantry, not really meaning anything by it besides ending the conversation. He hadn't even paid attention to Roderick's words until she had twisted them in an unsettling way.

After the meeting was over, the party immediately left Haven in order to avoid camping in the wilds. Only hours later did he realize that his headaches had been quiet, when they crept their way back for the rest of the day.


	4. codex 4: ὀργή

_**ὀργή** \- (Greek) - anger, wrath, agitation of the soul, impulse, desire, a violent emotion, anger exhibited in punishment._

_The violence in her eyes didn't cripple him. It only gave him reason to fight back._

* * *

**Codex 4: ὀργή**

* * *

He saw red and if he had less control he would have grabbed her and pushed the woman into the cells.

"Are you completely mad?!"

"Keep your distance, _Templar_!" She hissed venom through her lips.

He was mortified. It all had happened too quickly: the woman had left the apothecary and he saw a mage catching up with her. She hadn't stopped but words had been exchanged. The man was persistent and Cullen only heard him shout ironically after the 'herald' of Andraste. The moment he grabbed the woman by her elbow the street was filled with an agonizing yell of pain as the man was brought to his knees.

Cullen couldn't remember how long it took him to reach the two or even how he shoved the woman away.

"For crying out loud, you broke the man's arm!" Still with his arm at her throat he looked at the gathered crowd. "Somebody take him to a healer, don't just stand there."

At his thundering voice people started to move as awoken from a trance, either helping the man up or vanishing somewhere, probably to spread words of what they have seen. This was in no way helpful.

"Well then he's lucky that's all I got to break; didn't know mages matter this much to you."

Her words only managed to make everything worse. He did not think when he grabbed her collar.

"What exactly are you trying to accomplish? Burn down everything we're working for to keep blood from spilling in Haven? There is enough hate poured on mages without the herald openly harming them. Do you even know that everyone is watching you?"

"Then make them stop! I'd be very grateful to take a piss without that awkward feeling. I told him not to touch me – twice. I take no responsibility for a thing which I am not."

His jaw clenched as the steam leaving his mouth reached her face.

"Just because you don't have a god you can't force your heresy on others. Your denial doesn't make you right!" He let it out, by the Maker, he let it out and he knew; he knew that those words were not for her but for himself. Since that morning outside Haven he had been on a slippery path of doubt and infidelity. His words, he had carefully built until this moment so that they could ground his faith. He couldn't understand that occult fear that her lack of faith had planted into his soul with her presence. Not once has his belief been shaken; not in the darkest moments in the Circle and not in the blood-colored Kirkwall. But to hear the herald, the one who was supposed to speak in the name of Andraste, denying their right to faith and hope – he would not accept it!

And he knew he won this battle. He read it in her unnatural golden eyes, how they paled, deepening the amethyst edges of her irises. She was not shocked; she was not surprised by his reaction; she chose silence, letting him know she had acknowledged him. And he was not going to ask for anything more.

She stepped out of his now light grip and let the cold air take her place. Her eyes narrowed with displeasure but she did not fight back. He stood his ground until she turned around and retreated up the road towards her cabin. People were already whispering and he feared the consequences. What would take for the woman to realize that from the moment she stepped out of the Fade her life was not her own anymore?


	5. Codex 5: the storm she brought to Haven

_She was reachable, palpable; forged from the most common flesh and bones, as he was._

_ He felt betrayed by how unexceptional and opened to mistakes she suddenly was;_

_ he felt content with how approachable she appeared; _

_he felt terrified by how cold the air seemed after she carried herself away._

* * *

**Codex 5: the storm she brought to Haven**

* * *

He'd give anything for a wind of change. Nothing was going right at that moment and there was a limit to how much he could keep the recruits of the Inquisition motivated and in good spirits. There was no news from the party who went to investigate the events at the Redcliffe Village. They had been missing for more than a week and the fact that the herald had decided not to take Cassandra with her to meet Grand Enchanter Fiona was even more unsettling. By now, Leliana's scouts should have sent word from the Hinterlands but there was nothing at all. If Andraste was really guiding them he simply wished for the smallest sign that could make them endure.

Cullen made his way through the training ground catching sight of the Seeker battling her own uncertainties on the improvised targets. He saw her freeze with her sword up in the air. Something has caused her to stop in the middle of the attack. She frowned, let her weapon down and stepped away, approaching the road.  
Whatever had gotten her attention couldn't reach him through the high noises made by the constant clash of weapons and the sea of moving bodies. So he followed the woman just outside the training ground, on the dusty road.

Then he saw it; a lone, heavy horse with no saddle or reins, walking down the snow covered path. A short neigh escaped the animal as it continued undisturbed past the blacksmith's cottage. Cassandra stepped closer cautiously and extended her hand to stop the horse. He watched her and started to wonder how it could have passed the main gates. Had the guards let it pass? The seeker patted the rich mane and looked back at Cullen, the same question clearly readable in her eyes.  
But then he felt it; the ground vibrating under his feet followed by the thundering noise that only an army could make in their gallop. Right before he could understand what was happening an avalanche of strong, healthy Forders appeared out of the white hills that were keeping most of the road hidden to the eye. He knew that the animals were not going to stop so he acted fast, setting his body in motion.

"Clear the ground! Everybody move out of the way! Step out of the training ground now!"

His men retreated to safety either inside the village or on the frozen lake. Cullen reached the steps as well, watching in awe as the animals stormed down the road. He followed the line as much as the hills allowed it and all it took to put the pieces together was the wild appearance of a rider.

He held his breath at the sight of the woman that was advancing like the wind through the horses, mercilessly gaining ground and pushing the limits of the beautiful animal that she was commanding. Her horse galloped right past him as she exhaled her orders, reaching ahead and cutting the access to the Forders any further into the woods. When they threatened to advance she pulled the horse into a powerful rear. The air was filled with the echoing neigh of the heavy animal and he knew the image of the herald – grand, strong, towering - was going to stay in the minds of all those who had witnessed it.

The animals took a turn and obeyed her yelled commands, finally cantering in circles on their improvised training grounds. Some of the tents were undoubtedly destroyed but everyone was captivated by the graceful creatures in front of them. And Cullen couldn't blame them. Dozens of strong, battle-ready Fereldan Forders were at Haven's gates and if there was any other reason why he would look away from that encouraging image it would be just to gaze at the woman responsible for all of this.

He wasn't going to use modest words to describe her when the Trevelyan noble rose to her title. Her straight back made her look unbreakable; Her piercing eyes were taking in the glorious sight she had just offered them. This was her work – the Inquisition owed her this small victory – she knew it, she was well aware of it and she did not cower from showing it.

He understood then that her current position in the Inquisition would not last. Proud spirits like her were never self-sufficient. She'd take more and more or she'd corrode their Inquisition if they couldn't keep up with her deeds. As a Templar, he was too used to the presence of a leader not to acknowledge that in her. He should feel threatened but was it really that bad to have the Herald herself display the use of power? The explosion of positive reactions was undeniable. This was what they needed... when they needed it. He caught her looking at him. Or more precisely he realized that she must have caught his eyes for quite some time and was pinning him down with interest. He couldn't help it. He smiled and only found it easier to do so when he saw a crack of confusion on her otherwise perfectly bold expression. When she nodded her head at him and returned a confident grin he found himself more amused. She would probably combust with rage if he'd tell her that she had answered his prayers. Maybe the woman had no faith in the Maker but it seemed that Andraste had faith in her. She tugged the reins of the horse gently and made it canter his way. She stopped right in front of Cullen and turned the animal so that she could look down at him. Her pleased grin made him take notice for the first time of the tauntingly positioned mole, trapped between the corner of her lower lip and the vertical scar crossing the left of her mouth. The woman crossed her forearms and leaned forward on the horse, her braided hair falling heavily past her shoulder.

"Are these horses good enough for you, Commander?" She asked smugly, knowing exactly that the animals were past everyone's expectations.

"They are an invaluable acquisition for the Inquisition." He decided not to play her game.

She straightened in the saddle and looked up the road.

"Good! Because I took them from right under the nose of the King of Ferelden." Her head darted back at him. "And I am planning on claiming his mages soon as well."

He frowned and would have questioned her, but he was cut short when she suddenly extended her hand, expectantly staring at him, waiting for him to help her down from the horse.

He had no doubt that she was more than capable of dismounting on her own, especially after that display. She made little sense to him. The antics of this woman had nothing to do with her noble title. Cassandra was of royal blood herself, higher in both title and power, and yet she would feel insulted if he were to offer her help in this sort of situation.

He could only think of a petty game. When he did not answer to her clear attempt at a quarrel she must have taken it personally and was now looking for ways to antagonize him. She enjoyed her current position, looking down at him. But he was in a good mood and her outburst of superiority left him indifferent. He was determined not to play her game and so he took her hand. What did bother him was his lack of protest. On the long run, he could recognize the horrible habit that he had developed as a Templar – he almost hated himself for taking orders without questioning them and he realized his mistake when a knowing grin adorned her face. _Templars are Chantry-trained dogs_ he heard her say once to Cassandra. She had had the audacity of wording that in the middle of the training ground, surrounded by his men. And he felt as if he was currently proving her point.

He didn't have the time to acknowledge her victorious expression for long. The woman slipped effortlessly off the horse and he thought his aid would be purely formal. Instead the grip on his hand had been powerful, relying heavily on his body while resting her other hand on his shoulder.

Her hair brushed his cheek. The weight of her hand on his shoulder lingered there a moment longer even after she had stepped away. The woman had been with them for a long time now; she was present in the inner circle of the Inquisition and her acts spoke loudly. And yet, only then he became aware of her physicality. She was not an ideal, she was not an instrument of Andraste; she was reachable, palpable; forged from the most common flesh and bones, as he was; as anyone here, at Haven, was. He felt guilty for not knowing her name; he felt betrayed by how unexceptional and opened to mistakes she suddenly was; he felt content with how approachable she appeared; he felt… terrified by how cold the air seemed after she carried herself away.

"Varric, are you ok there?"

Her voice silenced his thoughts and he looked up as the last horses were making their way to the gates. The expression on the dwarf's face spoke volumes and Cullen knew that this was a story the writer would not end up telling. Positively livid, Varric glared in the most troubled way at the woman.

"Don't you dare, Trevelyan! You know I hate horses and you still pulled that stunt near Haven. Shortening my lifespan by a few years was unnecessary."

She folded her arms and shifted her weigh on her left hip.

"It's ok… I promise next time we'll look for a halla so you can ride closer to the ground."

He watched as the dwarf was uncomfortably trying to find his way off the saddle.

"You see, you're laughing but I'm concerned that you are wicked enough to actually do that."

She tilted her head and her voice betrayed amusement.

"Are you sure you don't need any help? We could ask the good Commander here to lend a hand."

Cullen had now approached the scene and stopped by her side, actually considering helping Varric, out of pity for the embarrassing situation in which he found himself.

"You two keep your distance. We'll see who'll laugh more when something knocks you to the ground. The taller you are the more painful the landing is."

While Varric finally gathered enough courage to pass his other foot above the saddle and let his body crawl down the solid horse, Cullen secretly hoped that he would land on his feet. Yet he couldn't help not responding to the coy glance the woman shared with him.

When Varric felt the safety of the ground under his feet he tugged his shirt with pride, his cocky attitude back in full force. The herald smiled his way and then looked up at Cassandra who was currently approaching them accompanied by a man Cullen did not recognize.

"Ah, master Dennett! Welcome to Haven." She turned to Cullen with the same serious expression he had seen the first evening they met. "Commander, this is the man who provided our fine horses. He has accepted to join the Inquisition at my insistence."

He nodded and let Cassandra take care of the conversation.

"We are pleased to count you among us."

The man let out a dry laughter. "How could I not? Your agent took my finest horses. I was not going to let them in the care of anyone with less experience."

"Once you settle, for any sort of resources you may need, make sure that the Commander is informed. He will provide everything that you need that is within our own capability."

"I understand. Lady Trevelyan, may I have a word with you? I will need some immediate assistance for a quick check on the horses. It was a long journey and I want to make sure they are in good condition."

"Of course." With a solemn gesture she left the group and allowed the horsemaster to follow her towards their stables.

He watched her confidently walk by the man's side, listening to whatever he was going to demand.

"My men have repeatedly tried to get at least a couple of horses from the man and she storms back to Haven not only with more than forty of these animals but with the horsemaster as well."

"She may not play by our rules but she gets things done. Can we really complain about that, Commander?"

"That is not what I meant…" he exhaled… "I was merely curious. Is she really that impressive… Cassandra? Outside Haven I mean... you've mentioned…" his voice trailed off remembering the words of appreciation the Seeker had shared with them after their first visit to the Hinterlands.

"Are you still having doubts? You've asked for horses, she delivered." Cassandra paused knowing that this was not the answer he was looking for. "I know of the incident in the village, Commander. And I understand why both you and Leliana have your doubts about the herald. But I have spent days in a row with the woman. I can't say that I fully trust her, but I fought by her side. It would be foolish to make her hostile. I've never seen a blade cutting deeper and swifter than hers. She has a difficult personality but I think we are lucky. She has been taking decisions where we failed to do so." She glanced at him to make sure he was aware of her insinuation. "After seeing her pushing her way out there, both on the field and through our problems... her abrasive attitude becomes more bearable, if not, complementary."

His eyes never left her figure while the Seeker shared her opinions. The woman was constantly nodding at the man and occasionally addressing both him and the blacksmith, who had joined them. Herritt grabbed the hoof of the horse near her and the animal responded violently at the sudden attempt. She was startled and rested her gloved hand on the neck of the horse, grabbing its face with the other. She must have whispered something for the animal calmed down and let the man have a look.

She returned her attention to the horsemaster but her right hand remained on the mane of the horse, continuing to pat it. It was an absent gesture and yet the animal remained docile and obedient under her touch.

"Maybe you're right, Seeker. Maybe we should ask her to join us during the meetings more often."

The woman seemed to have already forgotten what they were talking about and she took a moment to react.

"I am glad you finally see my point, Commander. We cannot afford to have doubts about the Herald anymore. It would be too late for that."

It could be. There was no denying that they were in need of a strong opinion; he was simply not convinced yet that the woman could provide the right one. At the very least, they would be able to understand her more.


	6. Codex 6: morphosis: safe

_"**Safe** and solid, protecting and proud. He feels like quiet, stronger when you hold him."_

_When she let her warnings reach him he found himself smiling. There was little reason to smile around Haven. _

_It could have been foolish on his part and yet her words couldn't wash away the contrasting safety that her calm voice was providing._

* * *

**Codex 6: morphosis: safe **

* * *

_"Varric says that I am misjudging you; that I don't give you enough credit and that I should … try to know you better."_ She had waltzed to him through his men on the training ground as if she was simply out for a morning stroll. "He said that I will change my mind if I could spare some time for a conversation."

He continued to walk knowing that she was following him. He had no idea that he was supposed to get an approval from the woman but apparently Varric thought different.

"Did he now? I am afraid that there is little to talk about. I was recruited to the Inquisition in Kirkwall, myself. I was there during the mage uprising – I saw firsthand the devastation it caused."

He heard one of the scouts calling for his attention but did not stop. He let the man catch up with him and automatically took the report. They were all the same and Leliana was making sure to keep them coming. "Cassandra sought a solution. When she offered me a position, I left the Templars to join her cause."

He finally stopped in a safer area, away from the loud noises of the training ground. If she wanted to talk at least they should be able to hear each other.

"Now it seems we face something far worse." He really didn't want to talk about past events. If possible he would bring the woman to their present moment. Whatever was before, he could not let that influence whatever road he had ahead. This chatter was not going to bring anything good, and he wished Varric were less intrusive.  
But he looked up and caught the Trevelyan eyeing him with conflicted interest. She had dropped her previous easy-going attitude and a shadow of concern hovered over her figure.

"You left the Templars for this?" For a moment he thought that she was going to make the conversation about the Order again but she kept a serious figure as she gazed over the training ground. "Do you truly believe that the Inquisition could work?"

Her tone felt so strange. For the first time it was empty of her usual snarl and coy hiss and she addressed him as if his opinion really mattered to her.

"I do." He paused to approve the demands on the report and send the scout away. Then he looked straight at the herald. "The chantry lost control of both Templars and mages. Now they argue over a new Divine while the Breach remains. The Inquisition could act where the Chantry cannot. Our followers could be part of that. There's so much we – " he stopped. Maker, what was he doing? The woman was staring at him expectantly and he realized that more typical, exalted words for the cause were not something she'd like to hear. "Forgive me. I doubt you came here for a lecture."

She glanced one more time at the men and women fighting in front of them before comfortably crossing her arms in front of her chest. She turned to him swinging her weight from a hip to another and smiled, clearly amused. He though he was an easy prey to her sarcasm, yet she surprised him again when she did not take advantage of his enthusiasm.

"Leliana is still waiting for an answer from her Maker in order to make a decision and she looks at me as if I am Andraste's personal scribe, keeping letters away from her. Josephine is being eaten alive by nobles and she is wearing herself out in order to keep appearances for us. I can't afford leaving Cassandra behind; I've grown too dependent on her skills." She met his eyes, with the severe and focused expression he was growing used to. "You are in charge of the forces and you are the only one fully aware of our real capability. You understand our situation, Commander – of course I appreciate your opinion. I am not going to throw myself into a battle without knowing what my chances are."

It took a moment to acknowledge both her words and her voice. She managed to remind him what Cassandra had always tried to make him understand. There was no time for doubt. He did not bare an empty title. His position and the expectations that he needed to fulfill were threatening. But that instant he felt more confident than ever since the disaster at the Conclave. He stopped himself from wandering what had changed and simply acted on it.

"Despite what the clerics think, we are in the best position to help. However, there is still a lot of work ahead." And as if to prove his point they were soon interrupted by another agent, with an all too familiar set of papers in his hands.

"Commander. Ser Rylen has a report on our supply lines."

"As I was saying." He couldn't hide his amusement at the displeasure with which the woman eyed the man. "If you don't mind…"

"Oh no, please go ahead…" Their sudden forced politeness left the scout a bit discouraged, not knowing how to read the mixed signs he was receiving.

Cullen found himself relieved when she followed them. She waited patiently until the man left. She stared at his back long enough as if she had forgotten why she was there; but then she cleared her voice.

"I fear we still have not covered the reason for my intrusion."

He laughed. How she could expose determination with such a trivial air was a mystery to him.

"Ok, what would you like to know?"

"I…" the woman stopped and stared at him directly "haven't thought that far."

He could only mimic her troubled expression at the woman's words.

"Varric mentioned you in his stories from Kirkwall.."

He frowned. He knew what sort of man he had been during those days.

"I bet there were all sorts of great versions you must have heard." He let out in a slightly sarcastic tone.

"Actually they were." The promptitude of her answer took him by surprise. And without a proper reason, he felt offended by the doubt he heard in her voice. "Well he did entertain me with particular jokes but he got really defensive when I passed judgment on you based on your Templar training."

"Is it really a habit of yours to insult someone every two sentences?" He worded his annoyance in the calmest and most reasonable way he could. Maybe talking of the days in which he had to face Hawke's sharp sarcasm was the reason behind his sudden attitude. He was ready to receive the negative reaction from the woman, taking full responsibility for the change of mood.

But the herald simply stared at him, her eyes slightly wider than usual. She took him by surprise when her lips curled up in honest amusement and he swore that her eyes turned a warmer shade of amber.

"Alright...Varric wins. I really thought that for a Chantry-trained dog you wouldn't know how to bite."

"That right there was another insult. And the thought that there was a bet behind all of this feels slightly insulting as well."

Her smile lingered on her lips even as she moved away from the joke.

"Why did you join The Order anyway?"

He considered how this was going to end in another chance for the woman to negate the importance of the Templars but they were already having a conversation he couldn't avoid.

"I could think of no better calling than to protect those in need. It was a noble cause and it gave me purpose. I was thirteen when the Knight – Captain spoke to my parents on my behalf. They agreed to send me for training."

"Thirteen?" Her eyes narrowed. "That's such a young age…"

"I wasn't the youngest there. Some children are promised to The Order at infancy. Still, I didn't take on full responsibility until I was eighteen. The Order sees you trained and educated first."

He watched as her smile turned malign but she made no remark at his words.

"So... was The Order everything you'd hoped for?"

He paused. "For the longest time, I thought so. I wanted to learn everything. If I was going to give my life to this, I would be the best Templar I could."

"That I can see… model student." she let it out while allowing her attention to return to the training ground.

"I wanted to be, at least. But watching a candle burn while reciting The Chant of Transfigurations wasn't the most exciting task."

He was not prepared for what came after and he felt a sudden urge to search for the woman's face and find out how she looked while laughing. She did not turn to him but her clear laughter told him that he had her full attention. It had been short but unexpectedly rich. He came to the conclusion that while she didn't seem to laugh as a common habit, the life she had before the Breach had given her enough opportunities to do so. Someone as arid as the woman would look awkward while laughing but oddly enough, it fit perfectly with her features.

"I bet by Canticle 12 that candle seemed literally tempting to put to test the 'fire that I be cleansed'."

Cullen frowned and continued to stare at the woman.

"You know the verses?"

Only then she glanced at him from the corner of her eyes, complemented by her pertinent smile.

"Just because I don't share your faith in a divine force doesn't mean that I don't read, Commander." She held his gaze, calculating if she should continue her thoughts. "I enjoy this sort of humorous literature."

Then he remembered she was a Trevelyan; a noble family dedicated almost entirely to the service of the Chantry. How this woman was related to them…

"And yet you were at the Conclave."

"Family duty." Her answer came quick.

"You see, without discrediting your words… I don't believe that. I never did in fact. You were definitely not the only Trevelyan present there. Lady Montilyet's correspondence with your relatives clearly mentioned the loss of several members of your family."

"We are a numerous family. I can't even name half of them; and it seems that you are better informed than I am on the matter." The fact that she refused to look at him and show any interest in the matter only triggered more alarms in his head. As he expected, the woman was able to read the pending questions through his silence.

A momentary wrinkling of her nose betrayed the displeasure that the subject was causing.

"I was there on behalf of my father – of my father's advisers, truthfully. And I can't deny that I was curious… this solution that Divine Justinia was going to provide sounded too idealistic not to hear it myself. I thought that the worst that could happen would be mages and Templars killing each other – and at the risk of sounding dreadfully cynical, in retrospective, that would have been a better outcome than this." She shook her head gently, "I was hoping to have my presence there unnoticed." Only then did she turn her head to look at him. "That plan clearly didn't work out."

"So after that you don't remember what happened?" He asked, caught in her story.

The woman pushed the silence a little further before answering. She looked down at her hand and brought her arm up to open her palm as if she could see the mark through the glove.

"Not a single thing." The distant whisper took him by surprise. "... it's rather strange because I never forge-" she abruptly breathed in the rest of her sentence and faced him with her usual marmoreal expression. "No; nothing."

The way she morphed her entire presence in front of his eyes sent cold chills down his spine and suddenly the winter air felt uncomfortably freezing.

He was almost thankful when she took over the conversation again.

"It is still unclear to me how a Templar from Ferelden ended up serving under the Chantry in a city from The Free Marches."

"I was sent to Kirkwall not long after the end of the Blight. I had been stationed at the Circle of Ferelden until then."

She knew. When her body straightened and her eyebrows furrowed it was clear that the events at the Circle were not unknown to her. He guessed she knew as much as the next person who had heard of the abominations that took over the Circle Tower.

"Few who survived the Blight have fond memories of that time. I would prefer not to speak of it." He was content, for the first time, of her upbringing. It was easier to communicate to a person with a diplomatic education that he wished to avoid certain subjects. When he moved on she listened with calm interest. "I served under Knight-Commander Meredith. The Chantry decided that it was the best place to have me as... my beliefs and aspirations were very similar back then to those of the Knight Commander." He felt uncomfortable by admitting the truth but just because red lyrium had taken the woman's minds he was not going to discredit the good work she had accomplished until then.

"Hard to believe… Meredith was a strong-headed woman; not exactly fond of the mages. Judging by the careful attention you give to the mages here I…fail to see the resemblance."

He frowned. "I've seen the suffering magic can inflict. I've treated mages with distrust because of it – at times without cause. That was unworthy of me. I am trying not to do so here. Not that I want mages moving through our base completely unchecked. We need Safeguards in place to protect people – including mages – from possession, at the very least." He added a bit too quickly, remembering the serious considerations that the woman was giving about the mages in Redcliffe. But then something else sank in. "You spoke of the Knight-Commander as if you knew her."

"Barely." Her voice was grounded. "I worked for her on a few occasions." The silence that followed felt heavy.

"You've been to Kirkwall?"

"Only about 4 times in my entire life." She smiled absentmindedly. "Dreadful city, really – resembles more a prison than a place anyone would want to live in. No insults to you or Varric."

"Well, I wasn't there for the view." He caught himself disappointed that she hadn't let out a full laughter as before. He shifted his weight and pressed on the subject.

"What sort of work? I thought someone like you would want nothing to do with Chantry business."

She inhaled and let the cold air reach her lungs.

"Ah, but you see… the Trevelyans are well known for their services to the Chantry." He let her mock his thoughts. "There is always some cleric in the Free Marches paying good money to have their problems solved. Occasionally… I pick up some of them. Whenever mages from the Circle in Kirkwall managed to escape the city as fugitives they were already out of you Commander's reach. I... took her offer twice."

"I didn't take you for the 'fetching' type."

She let out a short laugh but it was cold, empty and heavy. "Oh no, I was not fetching anything. Hunting… is the word you are looking for."

His throat was dry and when he spoke it felt as though thorns had clogged it.

"Did you bring any back?"

"I gave them the chance to turn in for judgment, if that is what you're asking." When she turned her head to face him there was no warmth in her eyes. "You were a Templar… you know the answer to that."

He felt angry with himself for allowing the woman to confess all of this. They both knew that anyone in his place would have judged her for it. Doing a Templar's job for money and as a sport felt unnaturally disgusting and cruel. Anyone would have had the right to express shock or disapproval. Anyone but him. He wished he could hate the woman but he had no right. He was the last person in the Inquisition who could judge her for the blood on her hands. And she knew it.

The woman pressed her lips and waited for the group of sisters to pass by before speaking.

"What exactly happened between Kirkwall's mages and templars during the rebellion?"

"You were at the Conclave. You must have heard people speak of it." That moment he wished he could step away from the woman. It felt like her interest was empty of any sort of compassion.

"Yes. But you were there."

She was unmovable. He had no other option than to fill her curiosity. With a heavy sigh he went on.

"There was tension between mages and Templars long before I arrived. Eventually, it reached a breaking point. There was fighting in the streets. Abominations began killing both sides. It was a nightmare." He didn't cower from sharing how everything felt back then.

"And then what?"

"The Templars should have restored order, but red lyrium had driven Knight-Commander Meredith mad. She threatened to kill Kirkwall's Champion, turned on her own men. I'm not sure how far she would have gone. Too far."

"So you opposed her?" the woman asked almost the moment he ended his sentence. She sounded intrigued if not slightly appreciative.

"I stood with the Champion against her. In the end. But I should have seen through Meredith sooner."

"Seems the Order is in complete chaos at the moment. Templars rebelling against their Commanders; the Order itself stepping away from the Chantry."

She had facts mixed up; or she simply acted that way. Regardless, she was getting under his skin. One word of admiration followed but a row of snarled insults.

"The Order believes the Chantry no longer supports their efforts. Not to the extent they should."

"Oww, but the Templars have served The Chantry for ages."

He didn't register the biting rancor in her voice immediately as he was burning with anger under her words. If she wanted to hear that she was right, so be it. It made him burn with silent anger admitting that there was grounded truth behind her lack of respect for both the Templars and the Chantry.

"And in that time, they have come to take the Order's services for granted."

If the Maker had any mercy left for him, He would not let his faith be shaken by this woman. She made him burn with anger and yet made his mind relax in cold relief at the same time. Voicing his own disappointment in an institution he had given his life to, made him feel like a traitor but also thankful to share his burden with someone who would not be shocked by it or pity him.

"Templars risk their lives against blood magic, demons, abominations – to feel as if those efforts are dismissed-" he took a breath, sensing the lack of control he was threatening to show. "I may disagree with the Order's actions – that I'm here is proof of that – but I sympathize with their frustrations."

He waited for the woman to gloat in her victory. It was something she was well known for by now. But his fire was dying with every second that the woman spent not lifting her gaze from the snow at her feet.

The unpredictable could not be controlled. He reminded himself of his thoughts the first time he met the woman. It seemed that he was incapable of predicting anything about her, from her acts, to her words or small gestures.

Her nose wrinkled once more. He noticed, but he was sure she hadn't. She was returning from her thoughts and yet did not look up just yet.

"Do you regret it now? Becoming a Templar?"

He held in his urge to step closer to her just to make sure he could hear her barely breathed question. It wasn't her words that he was doubting not hearing well, but the bitterness in her voice.

How was he going to answer that? He had never asked himself this particular question, but hearing it now, he realized how justified it was. How… was he going to answer? There were things that he wasn't going to share with the woman but he found himself wanting to know the answer as well. Would his life have been better? Was the reward of a Templar life enough to compensate for the miserable way in which they were meant to end?

"People need protection... the powerful will never step in to take the damage, but they will use a shielding force. Someone has to do it. You may disregard the Templars but there is honor in what we do. And all that we sacrifice… yes… I'd do it again just to protect those that can't do it for themselves."

"That's not what I asked…"

They both remained silent, listening to the clashing of swords.

He couldn't tell her. He could barely face it himself. Cassandra would have suggested to politely retreat from the conversation. Leliana would have advised him to lie so that they would never speak of it again. Admitting his current state would only cripple the trust on the Inquisition. His throat was dry and he felt as if he had walked for miles. He just...wanted to rest.

"Allow me to answer that another time."

If she was surprised by his words the woman did not show. But slowly he saw her shoulders lowering and her body relaxing.

"Alright." She looked up at him and he knew he was going to keep his promise to her. "I'll be waiting, Commander."

He wondered if this was what mutual understanding felt like. He didn't know how the rules of conversation worked. He was trained to use his sword and let it be guided by his judgment. No one sought a common ground with the troubles of his mind, nor did they show care and patience.

He felt **safe** for the very first time under someone else's gaze. When she let her words reach him he found himself smiling. There was little reason to smile around Haven, but he couldn't bring himself to let the woman know how bad she was at reading him. The guiltier he felt about misleading her the more enjoyable it was.

"But while it's admirable, you should stop being so dreadfully honest in front of people who might take advantage of it."

She said that. But it didn't feel right. It could have been foolish on his part and yet her words couldn't wash away the contrasting safety that her calm voice was providing.

"I hope that my curiosity did not make you feel uncomfortable." While there was truth in her words he knew that she was working her way out of the unpleasant topic they had shared. "It's just that you Templars give up too much of the great things that this life has to offer."

There it was. He had been right as she was clearly building her path to another set of insults. Yet he didn't find himself minding it. If anything he welcomed her attempts, curious on how far she could actually go.

"As Templars, we are not to seek wealth or acknowledgement. Our lives belong to the Maker and the path we have chosen. But -" He was about to continue his trail of thoughts when she interrupted him.

"See? Completely dull. You're missing the best parts."

He allowed himself a breathed laughter.

"A hunt for riches and a struggle for power? I think the Templars are taught to distinguish between values and vices in life."

She humored him with an unexpected dedication to her point of view.

"Knowledge! Pleasure! You're stuck inside the walls of the Chantry and the restrictions of ridiculous abstention! There is a world outside your Order. You are leading a life of service and sacrifice! How can that feel like an accomplishment? How can that feel satisfying? I've met Sisters in the Chantry who were less virtuous than what your precious order preaches."

It was hard to bring an argument in a conversation with her mainly because she wouldn't listen. He knew this could actually be a problem in a real confrontation but right now he found himself too distracted by her humorous attitude.

He was able to witness her thoughts being shaped into a coy, pertinent expression and find their final and unsettling, for him, form in a ridiculous question.  
"Are Templars also expected to give up… physical temptations?"

"Physical?" His voice died in his throat and he realized he had fallen for her trap. He would bear the horrifying memory of this particular moment for weeks to come; of that he was sure. "Why would you…" he could only curse as he realized he had made it worse by implying that she would be interested in – he needed to save face.

"That's not expected. Templars can marry – although there are rules around it, and the Order must grant permission. Some may choose to give up…more… to prove their devotion, but it's, um, not required."

When she said nothing he thought he could allow himself a moment of relief for dodging a terrible outcome.

He needed to look away. He knew it was imperative for his own sake but when her lips pressed together and curled in the most dashing smile she had ever granted him so far, his eyes could not be persuaded to move.

Her voice came out amused and leering, washing over him in a wave of warmth and leaving his throat dry.

"Have you?"

"Me?! I… um… no. I've taken no such vows."

Was there something else he should have said? Her lack of reaction only made it worse. Only when her smile started to lose most of its maliciousness and she crossed her arms, attention casually back on the training ground, did he allow himself to breathe again.

And there she went again, offering him false security just to dive for another blow.

"Good. It would have been a waste."

"I-oh… I'm sorry!?" he couldn't stop himself from exhaling that idiotic question.

Her answer came absent-minded as if she had not realized the weight that her previous words had dropped on him.

"A waste… not knowing the taste of someone's lips, the feeling of another skin on yours, the heat of two entangled bodies… a life barren of those is not a life worth living."

He thought of her words. He liked to believe that they were said just to make him feel uncomfortable but he was sure that the woman hadn't realized how she engraved them into his mind. He had never considered such physical things in terms of importance and value. He cursed his mind knowing that from that moment on he would never be able to see the woman the same way as before. And he cursed the Trevelyan as well when he caught her sly grin. Of course she had been completely aware of how misleading her words had been.

"Can we please speak of something else?"

She was about to answer when one of Leliana's messengers approached them. He had never been happier to see those damned papers. The woman caught sight of him as well.

"I rather think I took enough of your time, Commander. I should leave you attend to your duties."

"Of course." He grabbed the papers and looked down.

"I am counting on your presence this evening at the table. I think we've been waiting enough on both sides and we need to make a decision."

"Very well..."

She prolonged the silence.

"Have an easy day."

"Likewise, herald."

He looked up just to catch the look of annoyance on her face when she turned around and left. He shook his head and smiled as he returned his attention to the papers. The lack of verbal protest was an improvement.

He couldn't help but replay her words in his mind. Of course she had picked them intentionally. Suddenly he found himself embarrassed by his lack of reaction. His mind raced through what he could have answered instead of that naïve question. Maker damn you for a fool! He was not a young boy anymore. He was trying to convince himself that it was just his imagination, but what if the woman had actually - to what end anyway? There was no time for such things, he reminded himself. And even if she had any intentions, all he had to do was look back at her to realize that she was not the sort of woman who would share his views on the matter. She was an attractive woman in a peculiar way but her calculated eyes held no patience for what he had to offer. He knew there was no returning to the opinions he had had of her before this day but he would not deny the unexpected common ground he had found with her. His thoughts were a tangled mess. As he banished the plum color of her lips to the back of his mind he read the requirements from the papers for the tenth time without remembering a single word.


End file.
